


Strike Four

by in_fini



Category: OFF (Game), OFF (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_fini/pseuds/in_fini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the OFF kink meme and this prompt:</p>
<p>"It doesn't even have to be sexual, I just want the Batter to get hurt really badly. With descriptive imagery. Basically, it can be as graphic as the filler wants I'm fine with vomit and etc. too. </p>
<p>Bonus points if they cut a glasgow grin in his face, maybe extra bonus points if it's Zacharie but again I am not partial I just want Batter guro honestly."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Four

"You've lost. Game over, my love."  
  
He spits blood and watches it spatter on the ground between his hands. Strange that words can hurt so much. It feels like his ribs are broken. When he uses the broken end of his bat to push himself up, his left leg gives out from under him and he falls on his side. A burning flash of pain sends red over his vision, and then a wave of darkness. It doesn’t last long – his world returns with the sound of footsteps and the sight of red splashed across the monochrome floor. He can see delicate shoes in front of him, shoes someone might wear to a wedding.  
  
One draws back and kicks him. His nose crunches and the pain explodes behind his eyes and he reels, thrown on his back, thinking dizzily of how close he was -  
  
A bloodstained toe presses into his throat. He chokes and claws runs in her stockings trying to throw her off, his working leg braced against the floor, chest heaving for air he can’t find. Every attempted breath sends sharp pain through his ribs. He can’t shift her at all.  
  
“Is this what you wanted to do to our son?”  
  
When his (scraped and bloody) hands are more resting than clenching on her unyielding leg, she removes her foot. He inhales too fast and his ribs scream in protest and he coughs, the coppery taste of his blood coating his throat. She watches – or at least he thinks she does, faceless as she is – as he wipes the blood off his face with the sleeve of his uniform. He sits up and the world spins momentarily, his broken bat and his shattered add-ons solidifying into one image before him. He eyes the bat, wondering if he could get there before she hit him again, because of course he hasn’t lost, he’s still alive and he can still purify her, everyone -  
  
Her add-ons snake out and wrap around his right wrist, and when they slither back to her they bring his hand with them, and they cut so clean and hot that he stares at the cauterized stump of his arm before he feels the pain, and it burns and aches and throbs and he stifles a scream as she throws his hand, his batting hand, over the side and he tries to make a futile scramble to catch it but an add-on wraps around his wounded leg and tightens and it shatters into a million fragments of burning pain and he waits for the darkness to sweep across him again but it doesn’t and he finally screams.  
  
Cool hands stroke his cheeks, mixing his tears and blood in swirls on his skin. In the instant before he opens his eyes to meet her faceless gaze, he remembers a smiling woman laying down a birthday cake before an elated boy, but he only sees his shame reflected back at him now.   
  
“I remember when you used to smile,” she says, and grasping an add-on, begins to carve him back into the man she once knew, her soft humming still audible over the screams.


End file.
